"Thus," replied the prize-fighter. He savored the last solo, the coda. He had deliberately saved it for last. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. Oh, what’s his name? It’s on the tip of my tongue. S. ’ ‘Do you indeed?’ rejoined the old lady, twinkling at him, and urging him towards the door. Boldly he turned the knob of a certain door and entered.
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